"Mister, you said the King's concubine is a cripple like me. What is a cripple? I thought only poor people like us could be cripples, and that nobles would always possess mana or a magic core?" Grey asked the most important question on his mind, trying to sound natural and calm.
He was absolutely certain that being a cripple boded nothing good, but he had to understand the details.
"You're a cripple, kid? Tough luck..." the old man sighed dramatically.
'Screw you, you old fart. Is this your way of comforting me? You'd be better off shutting up if you can't say anything concrete,' Grey cursed to himself, but he didn't say it out loud.
Noticing the boy's lack of reaction, the old man continued:
"For people like us, strength is the foundation of everything, and you... On the other hand, maybe it's for the best. Since you're a cripple, they won't send you to war. I've seen too many youngsters like you, but with a shred of talent. They have hot blood, thinking they can buy their freedom if they get strong enough..." the old man's voice trembled.
"...do they really think the masters are fools? Who in their right mind would let a slave, in whom so many resources have been invested, just walk free? They only become cannon fodder as soon as their merits seem too high. That's how it was and always will be... That's how it was with Vigor, my son..." by the end of the sentence, the old man lowered his head, as if reliving painful memories all over again.
"Listen, kid, it's easy to die, but surviving is hard. You need to be smart. Learn to read and write. Be obedient and never talk back to the master. Do your work as well as you can, and maybe you'll live to see old age. Be useful and... and the masters will treat you with leniency.
That is the only way a slave can exist.
I've seen too much... Too many poor people... I watched friends die of exhaustion in the fields. I've seen children torn from their mothers. Lily and Cheryl are perfect examples. I lost my son because he was too proud, too strong.
He thought he could change his fate. And I... I couldn't protect him. I watched them take him away to war, knowing I would never see him again because I saw the orders..."
"Every day I wake up with the thought: 'Why am I still alive?' And every day I find the answer: because I learned to be useful. Because I realized that the only way to survive is to become an indispensable tool for our masters."
"Remember my words: humility and usefulness are the keys to survival here. Believe me, it's better than dying in a ditch on a battlefield. Lacking strength might be your greatest advantage. There's a reason they put you with the girls instead of with the other 'candidates' for the soldiery."
The old man fell silent.
By speaking so many useless words, he hoped to reach not only the boy but also the two girls who were mired in depression and refused to learn.
He hadn't been housed with the children for no reason. He had his own role. His duty was to teach them to be educated individuals and interesting conversationalists. Clients would offer a high price for such slaves.
Although the old man already knew the children were being prepared for the world's oldest profession, he did not consider it something disgraceful or even shameful.
They would have a luxurious life: soft beds, delicious food, and even some pocket money. In a word — not a life, but a dream.
This fate was much better than breaking one's back in the fields or dying in senseless wars. At least, that was what the old man thought, and he had his reasons.
The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted their conversation.
"And here is our dinner," the old man cried out joyfully, as if he hadn't just been telling a soul-wrenching story.
A guard approached the cage, carrying a tray of food and a pitcher of water.
Grey watched intently, noting every movement and feature of his appearance.
The guard was tall and heavily built, roughly thirty years old. His face was covered in scars, one of which crossed his left eyebrow and ran down to his cheek. He wore leather armor with metal inserts, and a broadsword and a ring of keys hung at his belt. They jingled constantly, clashing against one each other as if trying to heighten the grim atmosphere.
The guard slid the tray through a small opening in the bars and set the pitcher beside it. Then, without saying a word, he retreated with the same heavy tread.
Grey looked at the food with curiosity.
A thin gruel of unpleasant consistency, a small piece of stale bread, and a few tiny berries he couldn't identify.
"Is... is this our dinner?" he asked hesitantly, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.
Cheryl nodded. "That's right, the masters are very generous. The food for Cheryl and Grey is the best that the local residents can afford."
Grey felt a lump rise in his throat at those words. After tasting the porridge, he felt a surge of nausea; it was that disgusting. Breaking off a piece of bread, he tried to change the subject:
"And where... where can you go to the bathroom here?"
Lily graced him with a look for the first time, her eyes holding a trace of disgust and apprehension:
"Hey, brat! You can't do that in here! They'll take us outside during the day. There's a cesspool there. Until then, you'll just have to hold it."
'Damn it, why are you looking at me like I'm some kind of savage? I'm a civilized person! You hear me? I'm not going to soil myself!' Grey thought, but he only nodded in response, trying not to dwell on the discomfort.
He took his portion and began to force it down, trying not to wince at the unpleasant taste and smell. Every swallow, every bite reminded him of what he had lost and the situation he had ended up in, but he knew he had to preserve his strength if he wanted to find a way out of their unenviable position.
Time flew by unnoticed. Soon, the jingle of keys echoed again, and their cage door swung open. The guard gestured for them to head out.
Grey, Cheryl, and Lily, along with other children from the nearby cages, quietly followed one after another. They were led as a group of about twenty children of various ages. Grey tried to memorize the route, noting every turn and every staircase. Finally, they stepped outside.
A cold, biting wind whipped his face, making him shiver. The sky was choked with grey clouds that seemed to hang right over their heads. The air felt heavy, portending imminent rain.
'Is this place really located near a desert?' Grey wondered, looking around.
The sandy courtyard they were led into resembled a pen more than a place for rest. It was surrounded by a high fence, at least three meters tall. Scaling it without any equipment seemed impossible.
Beyond the fence, Grey noticed movement.
Adult warriors were training there under the supervision of overseers. Naturally, the slaves weren't given metal weapons, but their training was quite methodical. Some hauled heavy sandbags, others practiced strikes on improvised mannequins with wooden weapons and wicker shields, while a third group sparred with one another.
Many of the children, especially the boys, watched the training session with fascination. Admiration and perhaps hope shone in their eyes. Grey noticed some of them trying to mimic the movements of their elders, swinging imaginary swords.
He leaned closer to the rabbit girl's twitching ear and asked quietly, "Why isn't anyone using magic?"
Cheryl jumped in surprise and shot him a startled look. Her tufted ears shifted, as if scanning for danger.
Her exaggerated reaction struck him as quite cute. Somewhere in the depths of his subconscious, the little Grey who considered himself very "cultured" was happily applauding his new acquaintance. For a split second, he was even glad to be in this wonderful world.
Cheryl hastily looked around, and only after ensuring no one was eavesdropping did she whisper back:
"Stupid... Stupid Grey. Magic abilities are a trump card. Magic energy is limited; no one should use it mindlessly or reveal their powers without absolute necessity."
She paused for a second, as if choosing her words. "If a slave shows they have magic, their value goes up immediately. But along with that, the masters' expectations rise. A slave might be sent on more dangerous missions or sold for underground fights. That's why many prefer to hide their abilities until the very end. Besides, there are anti-magic arrays placed all over the camp that suppress the flow of mana."
Listening intently to Cheryl's explanation, Grey focused on the fence and indeed noticed stones marked with strange symbols. These symbols glowed with a faint, bluish light.
"And you... do you have magic abilities?" Grey asked cautiously.
The girl shivered yet again at his question, but she still explained. "Grey shouldn't talk so openly about such things!" she reproached. "Even if Cheryl had magic abilities, Cheryl would keep them a secret. Grey must also stay quiet if he doesn't want to get into trouble."
Grey nodded, showing that he took her warning seriously.
"Brat, didn't you want the bathroom? The pit is over there. Go, and don't cause us any trouble!" Lily snapped, having remained silent until that moment.
Grey turned to her, surprised by her sudden intervention. Lily stood with her arms crossed. Her small horns seemed to have grown even sharper with irritation, and her tail, with its pointed, heart-shaped tip, twitched nervously from side to side. Right now, she truly looked like a young demoness.
"You're right, thanks," Grey replied, trying to sound as friendly as possible.
He understood that Lily's behavior was likely a natural defense mechanism against a stranger. Given the circumstances she had grown up in, her caution seemed entirely justified. It would be strange if, after so many years of slavery, she didn't have a few psychological scars.
If he thought about it, it was actually Cheryl's open and friendly attitude that should seem strange. But who was he to complain?
'Maybe her childhood was less traumatic, and Cheryl managed to hold onto a bit of childhood innocence despite the toxic environment. Her attitude deserves nothing but respect,' Grey mused.
'In any case, I need to be careful. This isn't a fairy tale world, and I'm not the hero of some damn novel. I don't have plot armor! I could easily die if I'm not careful enough.'
Grey headed toward the cesspool, trying not to wince at the horrific stench.
On the way, he continued to scan his surroundings carefully, memorizing the layout of the buildings, the number of guards, and their positions.
Who knew? Maybe this information would soon help him when he started putting together an escape plan. He certainly didn't intend to stay in the role of a slave for long. If he had ended up in a magical world, he ought to be the protagonist.
Right? Right?!
'Hey, damn author, why are you staying quiet? Come on, toss me some kind of superpower...'
'Bastard...'
==============
Guys, please write a review of this book. It will help me a lot.
I know that many of you have a legitimate question: why the hell did you change the personality of MS? Why did I read the last 50 chapters? But I assure you, you won't be disappointed, just keep reading.